Post by d7m ☾ jj wolfram ☽ dars on Nov 30, 2019 13:29:17 GMT -5

At first, it is quiet. The vegetables sit untouched, frozen in time. The birds have gone. The air is stagnant.

And then the tributes arrive, streaks of silver in the deep shades of night. Flurries of snow accompany them, frost surrounding their feet as if pouring out of the four of them and they come to a stop there within the fence. Four corners of the world standing in the same place and they each peer down to notice a crown of briers, vine and thorn at their feet.

They've fought to get here, each of them: princes and princesses by anyone's account.

But only one ruler would remain.

Only one person would survive.

Only one tribute would become a victor.

The wind howls as loud and sharp as the gong that started the bloodbath, and all at once, the snow comes to a stop. The world is silent, if only for a moment, and then it begins to scream it's final demand for blood.

Post by d5f ✧ lysander mae ✧ kari on Nov 30, 2019 21:10:14 GMT -5

A little girl, a princess, was born. But my mother gave me away because she did not know what I was to become. She did not know that one day-

I would be a queen.

She handed me off to strangers, to people she had never even spoken to. I like to believe that she didn't know what they would do to us there, but deep down I think I know she did.

They're the ones who turned my heart to ice.

It wasn't the freezing cold in the arena, the nights spent shivering trying to keep warm. It was long before I even got here. When they taught us how to become a true career. When they told us that we were simply here to die. The way the others would treat me, how they were scared when I walked down the halls.

Beck.

It all made my heart frozen solid, and I have not yet been able to find a way for it to melt.

The evening came with weather colder than the night before and flurries that were so large they could almost be snowballs. Quickly, I packed up my things. I knew I would need to move before I froze to death.

Just as I was about to decide which direction to head in the world around me decided for me. Trees came crashing down, forcing me in one direction. I ran as quickly as my frozen limbs would take me, as fast as I could towards another version of Death. Finally, the trees were behind me and only vegetables were to be seen. I knew what they were doing, I knew exactly what they had planned. I inhaled the freezing air as deeply as I could, trying to refill my lungs with life when I heard a noise. My eyes flash around the clearing. Three figures are about to step out of the darkness.

And I know exactly who they would be.

One appeared at each corner of the clearing. They were faces that I was prepared to see again, faces that I knew would find me soon enough.

"So we all meet again." A smile plays on my lips as I look around at the others, one at every corner. "I will admit, I'm surprised to see some of you here." My eyes flash to the girl with very few limbs, Penelope, and the boy who never seems to be amused, Reyes. "Others, not so much." I flashed a wink at Ridley, the only other one here who was trained for this moment.

The girl that I knew would be a problem from the beginning.

My hands fall to the swords at my side. I unsheathe them, ready to take my last charge.

"Only one of us is going to make it out alive. I just hope you all know that it's going to be me."

Post by frankel on Dec 1, 2019 10:55:27 GMT -5

Back to the aimless wandering but now every step I take, sends an ache that I should have been carrying everyday since the bloodbath. Luck is finally beginning to fade away, everything that I deserved eight days ago is finally catching up to me. Vargen may be slain but he has left his mark on me.

I dump my ass onto the chilled turf, moisture quickly soaking my pantaloons. If only I carried a mirror, maybe I could see the extent of the wound on my face or figure out a way to seal it up. Confidence retracts the idea of using the needle and thread on my cheek, except its use lies on my leg wound and the bandages are reserved for my arms. Blood no longer drips from my wounds; infection is my new enemy now and hopefully the antibiotic plant will keep any microscopic intruders at bay. That is something I learnt at the first aid station. Who knew tiny tiny creatures were out to kill humans too? We really are an enemy to this shitstorm of a world, everything exists just to see our death.

My body relishes in the moment of peace, finally accumulating some energy to get me through these final days. All I need is just one night of rest and all my levels will be restored and hopefully the consistency that I carried this morning too.

Now all that swarms my mind is What must Uncle Tom be thinking? Maybe he is pooping his pants with fear that I will be stood at his door in a few days’ time, ready and armed to smash another window. I won’t be running into his arms with a warm welcome back. I bet my uncle has found a way to arm my next opponent with some powerful automatic weapon like what the peacekeepers carry. It is not a surprising act for a corrupt man like him.

It is hard battle with my eyes as I lay flat on the floor, a perfect view of the anticipated anthem except it is likely my body will have fallen asleep before the show can begin…

...fuck… There is a rawr from the sky, I must have drifted away for a few seconds…or maybe minutes (hours even?). The show reel begins and seeing the face of a career girl gives me some relief but there clearly is two more out there as the final faces are the boys that I have battled with. So, it is just me, two career girls…and handless? Honestly what luck does that girl have to still be wandering this arena.

I try my best to roll back into the sleep that I was pulled from but disturbances in the ground shakes me to my feet. I know what is happening, and I better fucking run before some shit collapses on top of me. Dragging my belongings across the earth, I half sprint the path that the gamemakers have clearly mapped out for me. ”Can you not give a guy a break? I killed that monster for you!”Every half step comes with a slight trip, the stitching in my leg wound feeling as though it is not tight enough. So, like a pig destined for the dinner table, I am being ushered to the slaughterhouse. Who will be joining me at the abattoir?

I am ushered to another foreign landscape. Rows and row of vegetables, except I guess this will not be a feast to fill our stomachs, more like a feast to cut the intestines from within us. The gamemakers do not bother to turn the thermostat up, this cloak is no shield from the icy elements as every hair follicle is raised across my arms.

They are all here.

Every face that was not projected in the sky. And they are all here to kill me.

Before spitting an ounce of venom from my lips, I quickly drop an open jar of tar from my bag, dipping my blade into my own chance to get out of here. Now is my chance to put on my own little show. They can follow my script of inferno. ”Hey handless…oh do I call you armless now?” I look down at Penelope, noticing there are more missing parts to her frame than I first thought. ”Holy fucking Ripred!” I just let the laughter flood from me, it will likely be my last chance to feel such emotion before the herd of girls gang up on me. ”How did you even get here?”

A saw penetrates my leather torso armour, ripping it away from my chest and leaving a smouldering hole in my shirt. It is Cole’s relative. ”Hailsham, what are you doing here? Cole told me the purpose of your family; children hand-reared for slaughter. Isn’t it your purpose to die anyway?”

My purpose has already been written, and it is to get out of here with all my limbs and a heart still beating in my chest.

Post by Stare on Dec 2, 2019 15:39:36 GMT -5

She was heartbroken and frostbitten and empty and scared and everything a Le Roux shouldn't have been when she woke up alone the day after Delaney died. She was just so tired, covered in blood and aching, and as she trudged along through the snow she couldn't help the way her stomach twisted at the nagging thought that she was very close to the end. In the beginning there had been twenty three tributes between her and a crown, and if death claimed her prematurely it was certain to be fast and unexpected. Now she could feel death's frozen first curling around her, promising a slow demise even as the crown was within reach.

As night fell along with the snow and she finally reached a frozen, mangled fence, she distantly became aware of other presences. Ridley's eyes dropped down to where a makeshift crown, half frozen and riddled with thorns, rested at her feet. Her heart jumped a bit, then steadied. The Gamemakers, it would seem, were ready for a finale. She and the three other tributes - Bell, Penelope, and Reyes (she wished she didn't know their names) - were being cornered and coaxed into one final bloody show.

There were four of them left. She could taste it.

But this was where Bette had once stood, wasn't it? Just a few breaths away from a crown. The difference was that if Ridley died there in the snow, she would stay dead. There would be no coming back, no Pax to rescue her, no Le Roux household to shelter her. Ridley had spent most of her life priding herself on evading death once, but she was beginning to see that it had been luck, not her own strength, that had saved her. For all she knew she'd been doomed to die in the Arena from the very beginning, and all she'd been doing was prolonging that inevitable destiny.

Do you think I'm going to die?

Why had she asked Bette that? Had it been because she'd already known the answer?

"Only one of us is going to make it out alive. I just hope you all know that it's going to be me." Bell's voice cut through the howling of the wind. Ridley focused on her blade as it tore into Reyes. Yesterday, it had destroyed Delaney Youngblood, a far stronger person that Ridley could ever hope to be. What did that mean for her odds?

Use your strengths, accept your weaknesses, stick to your virtues.

Ridley grimaced and fumbled for her tar, coating her blade and then watching the sparks shimmer in stark contrast against the silvery darkness surrounding them. The Gamemakers had deemed her a reaper, one of them, and with two kills under her belt it would certainly seem that she had once again risen to take the title she'd been given.

But a leopard couldn't ever truly change its spots, could it? Along with the fire a hatred burned, deeper than any virtue she'd ever pretended to have, and it wasn't for her fellow tributes.

I want for it to.. To mean something. Else, what's the point, right?

Ridley dropped her bag and gripped her scythe, tucking what was left of her other hand carefully against her hip as Reyes latched onto every visible weakness he could spot on Penelope. Two days ago the girl from Five had struck down Milo, stopping the biggest heart Ridley had ever encountered. She wanted to blame her, to feel the memory of Milo fuel her, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to hate what was left of Penelope Marcet.

It never goes away. The pain.

"This game has gotten slow." She lifted her scythe. "I don't think I like any of you, but it's been an honor. Now let's just end it."

Post by perdita leto ✾ 4f ✾ tris on Dec 3, 2019 1:07:56 GMT -5

I have a story to tell.

Of a young girl born in the dirt — who taught herself to dance in the air, to walk on her hands, to twist her body into any shape imaginable. A girl that was proud, and wild, and who only wanted to live. So much that she ran from her home and her family; so much that she set fire to her shelter and lost herself in the woods.

And she found herself there, too.

I did.

I was more than this, once. More than my broken limbs and bruised eyes, more than the blood in my hair and the paleness of my face. I was a star, in her jewels and her satin, and now I'm this. I'm the dying girl that wants to be a survivor. I'm the girl who has been torn from herself, stripped of her identity.

Parts of me are rotting in the snow — memories and fears and dreams. Beautiful things and terrible things, I have always had both. Now I have an axe shoved into my left arm, a log splitter in the right — and in the stump of my leg, a spear. My wounds are black, burnt and forced into healing; and I'm standing. I focus on that last part.

I try to forget the pain, the sound of my screams.

How they swallowed everything.

And in the haze, there is a bird. She has been with me for days now, coming and going and always overhead. This creature does not belong to me, but she remains at my side. I have stopped asking her why. She is flying, and I'm fighting, and we're both trying to stay alive. I try to ignore that she is all I have left, that all my allies are dead.

But I can't.

I remember them staring down at me.

Their faces are in my mind when the world begins to shift, when the snow turns violent and the trees rise from their roots. When the bird finally leaves, rising above the wind and the sound and the ruin around me. I stumble along the path created, a girl and her weapons and her desperate hunger to stay. To remain.

When I break through the storm, the land is quiet and still. But there are figures in the distance — all familiar, and all marching to the same hallowed ground. And I know what this means, I feel it churning in my stomach and aching in my wounds. This is the end, the finale battle, and now is when I truly long for the feeling of my fingers.

The sharpness of my nails.

I want to dig them into my life, to hold on viciously — but I am left broken, and afraid, and alone. Alone with my blades and my desperation. And perhaps that is all I need, but the sadness still drives itself into me. It sinks into me like a black stone, echoing through the emptiness. But I'm not. I'm not empty.

I'm an actress, and I am playing the victor.

"You won't get a damn thing from me, Reyes."

I spit the words at him, bracing myself against his sword and his flames and his words — and I never lose my footing, never scream. I pull the pain into myself, the pain I am constantly in, and I hold it between my teeth until I am silenced by the sting. I refuse to be seen as less than I am, even when I am not whole.

"How did I get here? Surprised to see me?" I laugh, coldly and sharply — I am a fucking war story. I'm the thing they want to forget from this place. "I've killed four people, I've survived impossible things." I am bleeding, and I'm tripping over myself, but I still move forward. I want them to see me.

"I earned that fucking crown."

Ridley Le Roux speaks of honor, of longing for the end — but I am selfish, and I am foolish. I want to stay in this agony, to lose as many pieces of myself as it takes to stay alive. But I will humor her this, I will help her be that much closer to the crowning. "When you die, Reyes, I hope you are whole. I want you to feel everything."

Post by d5f ✧ lysander mae ✧ kari on Dec 3, 2019 12:30:10 GMT -5

Mercy.

They taught us at the mansion that we should never show mercy, that it is a sign of weakness. But shouldn't a queen show some type of mercy? Shouldn't she let her people know she cares?

The others show none as they light up their weapons and attack the limbless girl. They do not care that she is broken, already on death's door. They continue to slaughter her anyway, each hit as painful as the last.

They do not know what mercy is.

A queen can rule by respect, or by fear.

Who will I be today?

My blade sliced deep into the armor on the boy's chest and singed his clothing and Penelope managed to add another mark to his already beat up face. Mere minutes into the fight and the ground has already turned red, the snow beneath our feet a battle field.

How long until it contained mine?

"Not bad for a girl with no hands." A cold humorless laugh falls from my lips. One that is filled with pity, one that might contain even a little bit of sorrow. But I know that she must die.

"This game has gotten slow. I don't think I like any of you, but it's been an honor. Now let's just end it."

"Honor? Honor means nothing when you're dead, Ridley."The girl slashes into Penelope's one good leg, just as any good career would, and the blood around her turns red. A river was beginning to form.

Maybe, if she was lucky, it could take her home.

"I earned that fucking crown."

Flurries fall into my eyelashes, and I blink a few times just to make sure I heard her right. Nobody earned any crown. Nobody deserves it but me.

Post by Stare on Dec 4, 2019 12:19:33 GMT -5

"Honor? Honor means nothing when you're dead, Ridley."

Bell lashed out hard and fast, striking down Reyes Calvo with such force that Ridley cringed. There would be no recovering from a blow like that. Perhaps she was right, and honor would mean nothing to Reyes now that he was dying, but Ridley still silently dipped her head in acknowledgement of the loss of another brave soul. When she raised her gaze again her chest felt empty and broken. Fear was worming its way in, cold and unwelcome, as she recognized herself as the next likely target.

And if Reyes hadn't been able to fight hard enough to save himself, who was to say she would be able to?

Frost-coated breaths panting out into the silence, Ridley thought of all the others who she'd managed to outlive. She thought of Charisma's fighting spirit and Torren's strange quest for freedom and Milo's selflessness and Delaney's strength and Efram's courage. The truth, she realized, was that she hadn't deserved to beat any of them. Neither had Bell. Neither had Penelope. Winning the Games wasn't something any of them deserved. It was something that was being forced upon them, an illusion of a desire manufactured by the Capitol and the Gamemakers.

And in this world, so intricately and artfully designed, they were supposed to believe that honor didn't matter. Friendship didn't matter. Truth didn't matter. Promises didn't matter. All that was supposed to matter to them was the crown, life, a mercifully granted existence in the Capitol's domain. They couldn't force her to believe any of it, though. Stick to your virtues. Bette's advice rang so clearly in her mind that it felt for a moment as if she was back in the Justice Building.

Her virtues. Ridley did care about honor, she realized, and not just because the name Le Roux demanded it. It was because she was probably going to die right then and there because the Capitol had deemed her worthy (or unworthy) enough to be a sacrifice and honor was her last way to spite them. A way to sneer and prove to them that there was, in fact, something she cared about more than the crown. A way to honor the memories of Charisma and Torren and Milo and Delaney and Efram and every other tribute who had already fallen.

"You're right, Penelope." Her own voice sounded suddenly different to her somehow. Steady and distant. "You've done absolutely everything they told you to do. You've suffered, and you've killed, and you've hurt, and they owe you that crown." Not her, or Bell, but them. The people who had put them in the Arena in the first place.

Images of Milo swam through her mind. Surrounded by so much colorful thread that one could barely see how chopped up and broken he'd truly been. Hobbling up a staircase on one leg just because she'd had a gut feeling. Offering his arm to her just before the Gamemakers' grand feast. Stumbling through her clumsy dance instructions. This is just the calm before the storm, right? No wait, forget I said that. I don't want to ruin the moment. Did I ruin it? Despite everything, the memory made Ridley smile. It faded quickly as she refocused on Penelope. "But if we're talking about death and debts, then you owe me something, too, don't you?"

Post by perdita leto ✾ 4f ✾ tris on Dec 4, 2019 14:41:16 GMT -5

I am tired of being 'the girl with no hands.'

I am tired of myself.

And when Reyes falls, I feel nothing. I have felt nothing but anger and pain and sadness for days now — and I want to be cruel, and ruthless, but there is something raw and aching within me. Something that has yet to be cut out.

He is a bitter, frightened boy — and now he is bleeding out at our feet. There is nothing I can do, or say, to change this. He is still the tribute that tore me apart. He is still dead. And I'm here, and the sky is quiet and frozen.

I am standing on no man's land; I am the dead space between two armies. And I know, now, how this has to end. I know it as Ridley's blade cuts through my arm, what little of it I have left — I know it as her words slit my throat, until there is blood in my mouth and all my excuses have been silenced.

There are things I can change, and there are things I cannot. I am savage, and I am broken, and now I am dying. "I'm so tired of debts." I say it quietly, hoarsely, limping to my bag. "It's funny, all those times I said I wouldn't die. As if I had any control over death."

The point of my blade meets the chain of the bell in my bag, and I laugh coldly and with sorrow. I am a girl walking to the edge of a cliff, and I am pushing myself off. "But then I was right, wasn't I? None of you can kill me." And I know they can, of course, as their weapons are pointed towards me and my body begins to shut down — but there are different kinds of immortality.

I pull myself up, as tall as I can, outstretching bladed hands to gesture at our surroundings. There are cameras everywhere, in the trees and the dirt and the grass, and I know that an audience is watching. I have always known how to put on a show. I twirl then, slowly and clumsily, a girl without limbs and hope. I smile up at the sky.

"They'll always remember me in the Capitol.I'll always be reliving these moments,on some television set, somewhere."

I look to the girl from Four, lifting the bell wrapped around my axe — and I spin my wrist, listening to the thin sound that echoes around us. I watch as she freezes in place, turning to look at Ridley and dropping it to the ground. There are weapons in my grasp that I cannot discard, but I do not raise them.

"Go ahead, Ridley Le Roux.Take what you are owed."

I spread my arms, open and bare — inviting. This is my choice, my final bow on the stage, and now the curtains are closing. I can hear the applause. And I am afraid, but I am trying to be okay. This is the curse of an actress. I can make the worst moments look beautiful, even with a spear through my heart.

Post by d5f ✧ lysander mae ✧ kari on Dec 5, 2019 16:35:39 GMT -5

Just for a moment-

I am blinded by a flash of light.

It is short and brief. And if you blinked you would have missed the glorious half a second. I swung my sword and a fire ignited. There was a large thump and the light was gone. The boy's body laid in front of me, bloody and burnt and broke. It took nothing more than a half a second and a bright light.

If there is light, there is hope.

Reyes Calvo is no more.

I can feel Death standing behind me, a smile on his face, finally proud that I have almost reached my full potential. The career girl swings at Penelope, spilling more of her blood onto the ground. I'm surprised that there is any left, that she even has some to spare, but Ridley finds it and turns the ground red.

"They owe you that crown."

My body freezes and turns colder than snow that's been silently falling around us. My eyes narrow and I bite my lip so hard to keep my anger inside that the iron taste of blood fills my mouth. They do not know what they are talking about. There is no one who is worthy enough.

Only me.

I begin to make my move, to end both of their lives, but the broken girl rings her bell and I am stuck. My legs will not budge and my arms are stuck at my side. A scream fills my lungs, and when it is released the sound fills the Arena.

"I hope you rot in hell, Penelope Marcet."

And as if my words were his signal, he began to move towards her. His black cape gliding across the white snow is blinding. His movements are slow, but deliberate and every second he inches closer and closer to the dying girl. He carries his scythe and another item in his hand. A crown. One that I know is meant for me.

Post by Stare on Dec 6, 2019 1:06:40 GMT -5

"Go ahead, Ridley Le Roux. Take what you are owed."

She had collected on more debts than she could count, earning herself a reputation that she desperately (and perhaps foolishly) hoped that her family would never discover. Le Roux was the name that she'd been so graciously gifted, but as she grew older and sought to protect herself with favors and deals she earned herself a number of other titles. Bitch. Heartless. Cruel. Ridley rolled her shoulders back so she could feel the scar tissue pulling over the angles of her back.

That's where her wings were ripped off.

No. That's a lie. That's not what happened.

But if the names were what protected her, who was she to deny them?

Penelope was fading and she knew it. Ridley could see it in her eyes. She tensed in expectation of some kind of final blow, a parting gift from the girl she barely knew and yet knew so well, but it never came. Instead, the girl from Five lifted what looked like some sort of bell, its sound echoing harshly through the ink-dark silence. Out of the corner of her eye, Ridley saw Bell freeze. Before her, Penelope met her gaze.

"I'm done. I'm ready to go."

Ridley dipped her chin briefly, conveying a kind of understanding that could only be shared between two tributes who had seen death so many times that it was beginning to feel like a part of them. "No more pain." Penelope Marcet had been a force to reckon with, ablaze with determination and underlying tones of chaos. Even nearly chopped to pieces, she was a sight to behold. But she had grown tired. Ridley was getting tired, too.

"I hope you rot in hell, Penelope Marcet."

Ridley glanced at Bell, shifting her grip on her scythe. The truth was that Bell Hailsham terrified her, and a part of her selfishly wished that she wouldn't have to face her alone. But she was beginning to suspect that her fate had been sealed since the beginning. She'd been destined to finish this fight by herself. To die alone, if it came down to it. As she thought about Charisma's final breaths, Milo's head in her lap, Delaney bleeding out before her in the snow, she realized that she didn't regret it.

She'd been with them for their ends. That was worth the price of facing hers alone.

Ridley focused back on Penelope, looking her dead in the eyes. "You deserve to fall to no one less than the devil himself." Her tone was unwavering but raw, carrying a truth that she almost wished she could avoid. She didn't want to kill Penelope. It was the debt she was owed, but for the first time in her life, Ridley didn't want to collect. She took a breath that seemed to rattle cold and harsh in her lungs. "I hope that I'm a good enough substitute."

Post by perdita leto ✾ 4f ✾ tris on Dec 7, 2019 13:42:59 GMT -5

TW: SUICIDE —

I've been busy these last few days & am not ready to give this post the attention it deserves, but for the sake of keeping this fight going, please accept this filler ♥

For Ridley & Bell;she's on the edge, holding on by a thread — the snow has gone, but it is still cold. she lies there, dying, listening to them. to the words that are hateful and the words that are sad. but they are just words, and they do not take away the pain.

she will rot in hell — she deserves to fall to no one less than the devil. she laughs, but the sound breaks in her throat and there are tears. maybe she is the devil. or maybe she's just a girl, and maybe she's afraid, and maybe she just wants it to stop.

"I have to finish everything myself, huh?" her face twists, a small smile on her lips, but the humor doesn't reach her eyes or her voice. she forces herself to sit up, curling into herself and preparing for the inevitable. she looks up to the sky.

"Take the bird with you." she's saying it to neither of them, to both of them, to the one destined to wear the crown. the creature flies above her, safe in the clouds, but this is not freedom. "Don't let her die in a cage." she's talking about herself, too.

don't let me die in a cage.

"None of you can kill me."

I echo the words I have spoken since the first day, but they are quiet and small and whispered to myself. I bring an axe to my throat, cold and rusted and more familiar than my skin — and I end it. I fall back quickly, and terribly, and the spotlight fades.

Post by d5f ✧ lysander mae ✧ kari on Dec 7, 2019 18:46:04 GMT -5

A false queen.

That is all she was. A bump in the road. Something that was meant to test my strength. Something that would test my true ability to prove my worth.

And now Penelope Marcet was dead.

Death by her own hands. Was it noble or cowardly? Was she just so brave that holding an ax to her throat did not scare her or was the presence of Death not enough to make her shutter? Or was the fear of another girl ending her life too much for her to handle? I am not sure, but one thing I am sure of is that the girl in front of me can't even kill a dying girl. A trained career was no match for a limbless girl from Five. A smile played on my face.

My crown was waiting for me.

Her body lay face down on a patch of grass, covered in her own blood. A girl who was once whole now lay broken at my feet. She found a way to make it this far, but anyone who commits treason must pay.

And now she has paid the ultimate price.

Finally, I was able to move my limbs again. The girl's dying attack finally wore off. I walked closer to the girl who is still alive, the only one who is left.

Just one more.

My swords lit up the darkness of the night as they trailed near my shins. I took my time, drawing out every single step that I made. A smirk slowly found it's way on my lips. I was like a hunter, stalking his pray and she stood there waiting for me.

"Well Ridley Le Roux, it looks like it's just us now, but soon it will only be me."

Death stood on the side. Cloaked in black and almost invisible in the night. He is still waiting. Waiting to claim his last victim.

Waiting to crown me his queen.

"You couldn't even kill a broken dying girl. What makes you so sure that you're going to be able to kill me?"

The light of the swords are guiding me towards my kingdom. They are my way home. They are taking me towards my crown.

Post by Stare on Dec 8, 2019 0:02:33 GMT -5

Penelope was a final burst of flame and color, an entire galaxy unfolding out over the expanse of the Arena, burning so bright Ridley could barely look at her.

And then she was gone.

Ridley released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, staring at the limp body surrounded by a halo of frost and blood. The sudden silence felt leaden, honoring the space that the girl from Five had left behind. There was no doubt that all of Panem would remember this moment, but only Ridley and Bell would have actually been there. Only one of them would carry the memory out of the Arena with them.

And so this was it. The end. Ridley lifted her gaze from Penelope's body to Bell, her numb fingers grasping at her scythe and feet shifting quietly in the snow. Her breath spread out around her like a fog, a few snowflakes catching in her hair and lashes. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that she was home, breathing in the winter chill just before a morning run. She was so close it ached in her bones. Ridley didn't want the crown. She didn't want the glory. She didn't even want the guarantees and protection that came with the title of Victor.

She just wanted to survive.

"Well Ridley Le Roux, it looks like it's just us now, but soon it will only be me." Ridley pressed her lips together, tracking Bell's movements. "You couldn't even kill a broken dying girl. What makes you so sure that you're going to be able to kill me?"

When the other Career lashed out Ridley dodged away just fast enough for the blade to only skim her cheek, ducking down into a tumble and coming back up onto her feet neatly. Snow plastered against her back and in her hair. When she brought her dead hand up to her face, numb with the cold, it came back smeared red. Ridley grimaced, then glanced up at Bell.

"I couldn't kill Penelope Marcet," she corrected. The girl from Five had been many things, but Ridley wasn't yet convinced that she had been broken. "I'm not sure I can kill you, either. Delaney couldn't, and she was stronger than I'll ever be."

Ridley had never been a killer. She'd tried to train herself to be one for the sake of intimidating others and keeping herself safe, but what did that matter now? She was standing there, but she was alone. She hadn't been able to keep Torren safe, or Charisma, or Milo, or Delaney. Bell sure as hell wasn't intimidated. Ridley pulled herself up taller. She'd never been a killer, but she'd always been a fighter.

"Maybe I'm not the devil." And suddenly her scars felt like what they truly were. Not the basis for a dozen rumors or a namesake or a trophy earned through perseverance, but physical evidence of all the abuse she'd suffered at the hands of a man who was supposed to care about her. "Maybe I never was. But I'm still here."

Post by d5f ✧ lysander mae ✧ kari on Dec 9, 2019 10:44:24 GMT -5

Once upon a time there was a little girl.

One who was hopeful and kind, and some would even say had a heart of gold.

Then I grew up.

And I learned that the world is not kind. It is hopeless and cruel, and the people who live in it have souls that are as dark and cold as the night. Souls that do not care about what happen to the children who live.

Or worse, to the ones that die.

There was a time that I was innocent, a time where I didn't know the true horrors of the world around me. But I was taught that the only person who is always there for you is yourself, others will not come to your aid when you cry out for help.

We live in a selfish world.

So I do not cry, I do not scream. I simply stand there and bite my lip as the blood trickles down into my eyes from the gash the career girl's scythe left in my forehead. I had tried to duck but she had anticipated my movement and swung her weapon lower than I had originally thought.

I take the back of my sleeve and wipe across my forehead, trying not to wince in the progress. Blood still lingers in my eyes, so I blink a few times until she's clear again. Until I can see the figure of a girl who is about to die.

"She wasn't stronger than you, really she wasn't even close. You're just weaker. You want to know why? It's because you think you are. The mind can be a very powerful thing, Ridley Le Roux."

The girl who stood in front of me was not weak, she would have died long ago if she was. This girl can almost match my skills and my talent. She can almost match my knowledge. But she would never come close to reaching my attitude.

And that would be her downfall.

""For now, that's enough." A cold heartless laugh leaves my lips. One that almost even chilled me to the bone. She was more naive then I have ever imagined.

Post by Stare on Dec 10, 2019 21:00:36 GMT -5

Ridley was fast enough to bring her scythe up and block Bell's first blow, the clang echoing like a gunshot off the frost and the snow and the bodies. The swollen, mangled mess of her wrist screamed in protest. She wasn't able to avoid the second hit, though, Bell's blade slicing through her cloak and shirt to rip a gash open across her spine. The force of it sent Ridley crashing down onto her hands and knees, droplets of blood splattering against the already sullied canvas of white beneath her.

She stayed there for a moment, back bared to the world, until the cry that had been yanked from her throat somehow morphed itself into a laugh. Breathless, panting in the air, her new wound shrieking against the cold, Ridley laughed. She laughed so hard her body shook, numb fingers curling into the frozen ground. Everything hurt when she pulled herself back up onto her feet but she was still grinning, relief flooding through her. Bell had cut clean across her scars. Suddenly Ridley wasn't a devil without her wings anymore, but a properly battered and beaten girl.

And Ripred, she felt so free.

"Never enough for who?" She spread her arms wide, deliriously serious. In her mind she could see Delaney, pale and bleeding out. She could see what was left of Milo, tugging on the colorful thread. She could see Torren crashing into the river. She could see Charisma drawing in a last shuddering breath. She hadn't been enough for them, certainly, or else they would still be there. But that was the trap of the Games, wasn't it? If she died she hadn't been good enough to win. If she won she hadn't been good enough to die. Ridley gestured toward Penelope and Reyes. "For them?" She lifted her scythe vaguely toward the sky. "For them?"

The girl from Four was going to kill her there in the cold and Ridley was going to die alone but it was Bell that she pitied. Ridley knew what she wanted. She'd always known, ever since the day that she'd hid underneath a rickety kitchen table with glass embedded behind her shoulder blades and tears streaming down her cheeks. All she'd ever wanted was to survive and be safe. She wouldn't get that wish, but at least she'd been chasing something real. Watching Bell, Ridley was struck by a sudden certainty that the other Career was chasing a myth, a legend, something nebulous and unreachable. An illusion.

And that was so much worse than losing.

"I can't fix that, Bell," she said simply, grimacing. "Neither can a crown. But I don't care about being enough for other people anymore. Where are they now?" Safe. Dead. Both. "They can't save us."

Ridley's story, she was beginning to realize, was a tragedy.

But she would still have to be the one to write the ending. No one else.